P is for Passion
by MovieFan747
Summary: The School of Rock band members feel passion for two things: rock music, and each other. But who feels more than just close friendship? A series of one-shots, with many different ships.
1. Je t'adore

**Je t'adore (I adore you**)

**Title: Je t'adore (I adore you)**

**Rating: PG**

**Genre: Romance**

**Pairing: Summer/??? (a band member)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing remotely School of Rock-ish. Or the Ramones (I wish) or East Side Mario's. Or Paris, for that matter. Please don't sue me!**

**Summary: Summer reflects on her relationship with a boy she's always known, and always been in love with. One-shot.**

**This fic is a one-shot. I came up with the idea at 10:00 pm last night, so if it sucks, please tell me. If you like it, though, tell me anyway. If you really couldn't care less, tell me. Basically, just review!**

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I went on a trip to France this summer. Paris is absolutely lovely; it's easy to see why it's called the most romantic city in the world. During the day, vendors are everywhere, selling ice cream, roses, miniature Eiffel Towers, and artists paint people's portraits as they pause in their touring. At night, the beautiful lights from the Eiffel Tower and l'Arc de Triomphe shine down on couples stealing good-night kisses. While I was there, I managed to pick up some of the French language. But one phrase sticks out in my mind: _Je t'adore_.

_Je t'adore_. I adore you. As I walk into my eleventh-grade homeroom and see all my bandmates, I can see how true these words are. I've known each person in 'School of Rock' almost my whole life, but we hadn't become inseparable until fifth grade when the band started. I got to know everyone, and I've formed a special bond with each of them. They're all so important to me. But there's one of them who I thought of as soon as I learned those two words.

Zack Mooneyham and I have lived two houses away from each other our whole lives. Our parents attend the same Block Parent meetings every Sunday, so we've spent our Sunday afternoons together for as long as I can remember. Zack had always been a shy boy, keeping inside his shell, and I - I was just Summer. A plain girl who likes to do homework. But with the start of 'School of Rock', Zack began to grow into himself. He became best friends with Freddy, the band's attractive drummer, and became hooked on all things rock 'n roll. He also started to get closer to the girls, playing songs for them on his guitar and eating lunch with them. This really threw me into a tizzy. Zack should me mine, not theirs.

Those girls didn't hear him speak for the first time (of course, I don't remember this, but our mothers love telling the story of the time he called me "Mommy"). Those girls haven't spent evening after evening making peach smoothies in his kitchen with him. Those girls don't have a running tradition in buying each other band t-shirts for our birthdays (he was born four days before me in May). Those girls don't admire the back of his head every day, wanting desperately to run their fingers through his hair. Those girls don't relish every crooked smile he sends their way. Those girls don't look deep into his chocolate eyes and see everything they ever wanted; everything they can't have.

They don't. I do.

As class is about to begin, we all select seats for the new school year. Zack and Freddy sit right next to each other at a two-person desk. I can't help but wish bitterly that I was in Freddy's place. I slide into the seat directly behind Zack, noticing slightly that Marta (my best friend other than Zack) had taken the seat beside mine. The teacher, a boring-looking woman in her late forties, strides to the board and begins the lesson. Against my better judgement, I feel my thoughts slipping away...

_Zack and I, typical awkward eighth-graders, were walking towards our houses on the last day before Christmas break. After seven minutes of hurried discussion about the Ramones tribute album, we fall silent. Sure, I didn't play an instrument, but I loved rock music with a passion. I couldn't help but notice how very close our hands were dangling, the back of my red-gloved hand occasionally brushing against the back of his bare one. Suddenly, Zack broke the silence._

_"What are you doing Friday night?" he asked quietly._

_"Nothing," I replied, holding my breath. Zack was being so formal. Was this it? "Why?"_

_"I thought the band could all go see 'Lord of the Rings' together," he told me, grinning. "What do you say?"_

_What could I say?_

My thoughts were interrupted by a small square of notebook paper, appearing on the desk before me. I turn my head to look quizzically at Marta, but she is focused on the geography lesson; it was clear the note wasn't from her. I raise my head and my eyes fall on Zack. His head is turned and he is sending me an infamous crooked grin. Involuntarily, my heart speeds up.

I curse myself almost at once; I was being stupid. Zack and I pass notes several times a week. Why should this one be any different? But I can't help myself. I somehow have a good feeling about this one.

Summershine, (I smile as I read the nickname that only he uses for me)

School bites; I wish we were at Dewey's, jammin'. Even a Block Parent meeting would be better than this, at least we could have some fun. Look, we haven't properly hung out since you've been back from Paris. How about dinner at East Side Mario's on Friday? We can go after rehearsal.

Keep it real,

Wacky Zacky

I smile ruefully. 'Summershine' and 'Wacky Zacky' - we've had those nicknames for each other since second grade. Dinner with Zack; something I know half the junior class females dream of. But he's not asking me because he wants to take me to the Homecoming dance - he's asking me because we're best friends. Something we've always been, something I've always wanted to be more of.

Biting my lip, I write, "Of course, Wacky. Sounds great! - Summershine", lean forward, and drop it over his shoulder and into his lap. I see him unfold it and read my reply. Zack glances over his shoulder at me and our eyes meet.

_Je t'adore_.

**A/N: Well? What did you think? Did it suck? I tried making it longer, but it just didn't work out. I thought it was sweet, at any case. Don't worry, I'll still keep writing my other fic, "School of Rock: The Second Generation" (if you haven't read that one, check it out!). This is my first attempt at one-shot. Please read and review!**


	2. The Kissing Game

**The Kissing Game**

**Title: The Kissing Game**

**Rating: PG**

**Genre: Romance**

**Pairing: Freddy/Katie**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for the notebook I wrote this in, but then, you don't really want that, do you? Even if it does have Harry Potter on the front. Anyway, I don't own any School of Rock characters, the Kissing Game (although that was our favourite first-grade passtime), an SUV, Evanescence, Linkin Park, God, or Satan. So if I offend you, deal with it.**

**Summary: Freddy has been in love with Katie for seven years, and on the night of her champagne birthday, he decides to do something about it. One-shot.**

**This, too, was written around 10:30 pm. Why do all my one-shots come to me so late at night? Oh well. I've decided to turn this into a series of one-shot fics. There will be every pair imaginable! Well, maybe not every pair. If you want to request a ship, just let me know when you REVIEW!**

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I remember in first grade, I thought to myself as I pedaled down my long driveway. When there was nothing to do outside at recess, and we were bored out of our skulls, we'd play the Kissing Game.

Everyone would play. Frankie did. Leonard did. Marco, Billy, and Gordon all did. Of course I did. Even Zack would play, sometimes. Eleni and Michelle loved playing. So did Marta, Alicia, and Tomika. Katie would play most of the time too. The only ones who didn't were Lawrence and Summer. I guess Lawrence was too shy around the girls, and Summer - well, Summer was all too happy sitting under a tree, reading Harry Potter (even then, she had a very high reading level - which she would point out to anyone who would listen). The Kissing Game was pretty typical of first-graders just discovering the differences between girls and boys. Basically, the boys would run around after the girls, and if they caught one, they'd kiss them. Simple as that. Bit stupid, really. But hey, we were six.

I remember my first kiss, too, I remembered as I rounded the corner onto Lumley Lane. We'd been playing the game for only a day or so. Each of the guys usually had a target. Marco had Eleni, Billy had Alicia, Frankie had Michelle - things like that. Well, I had Marta. We'd been running around for about six or seven minutes. Marta was running fast enough so that I wasn't able to catch her, but slow enough that I wouldn't give up and chase after someone else. Then all of a sudden, the dropped to the ground. Just like that. I couldn't see anything that she could've tripped over - she was wearing sandals! But maybe she'd just lost her footing - unless she'd done it on purpose? I didn't think too much about it - I was only little! - and fell onto my knees next to her. Next thing I knew, I was leaning over, and - SMACK! - our lips met for the briefest of moments.

Of course, right away, we pulled apart. I yelled "Gross!" and she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. We both grimaced, got up, and kept on running. But we kept our distance. Oh well, that's kids for you.

I think, I mused as I waved to some man walking his dog (hey, he waved to me first - I totally don't know him) that I've probably kissed every girl in our class because of that Kissing Game. Well, except Summer, of course - but then, she's such a prude, she probably hasn't kissed anyone. What a surprise.

Oh yeah. Except Katie, too.

My front tire gave a sudden jerk then (or did I jerk it?), and I almost went sailing over the curb, directly in the path of an oncoming SUV. Watch yourself, Jones, I thought to myself. Get a grip, if you don't want to have an early demise.

I had almost had the chance, though, at the end of the first week of our game. Usually it was Gordon going after Katie (at least, it had been the previous day), but he was out sick that day. When a guy wasn't at school, "his girl" was up for grabs. So I decided that I'd take a shot at it. I started to run after her. It was nearing the end of recess, and I was puffing and panting - I still hadn't caught her. It was kind of weird, actually. Most of the girls only ran for a little while; you knew they really wanted you to catch them. But Katie was acting differently. She was really putting up a fight! I honestly didn't know girls could run that fast. Then the bell rang, signaling the end of recess. We all lined up, and Katie was right in front of me. I could see little beads of sweat dangling off the end of her brown hair. Right before Katie walked inside, she turned her head to look at me. "Better luck next time," she said with a smirk, and stepped through the school door.

Even as a six-year-old, she'd had an attitude.

My bike crossed the street, and there it was. Katie's house. It wasn't a very large house - certainly not as big as mine. It was a light yellow, 2-storey house with a white garage and front porch. There was no one outside, but there were a few lights on that shone into the now-dark night: one in Katie's brother's bedroom, and one in the living room.

All of a sudden, I panicked. My vision began to swim, and I started to shiver. I was pretty sure this had nothing to do with the warm early-June air. I pedaled hard, straight past her house. Calm down, Jones, I commanded myself sternly. Just ride around the block and try again. You're being stupid.

But a little thing in the back of my mind kept nagging me. I wasn't being stupid - I knew exactly what was wrong with me. Katie was what was wrong with me. Ever since that day in the classroom lineup, I knew that I had fallen for her. Big time. My heard sped up whenever she walked into a room, and I started sweating like a monkey if she was within ten feet of me. During band practice in Dewey's apartment, I couldn't take my eyes off her. Okay, I played the drums, and she stood right in front of me. But Zack was there too, and you never saw my eyes drilling holes into his back.

And if she touched my arm, to point something out or to laugh at one of my jokes? Yeah, forget it. I turned into a blithering idiot for the next ten minutes.

Don't think anyone hasn't noticed. In fourth grade, my mom stuck two cupcakes into my lunch. Let me tell you, I sure didn't share them with Zack, my best friend. Which is probably why he turned to me, after eyeballing Katie licking pink icing off the side of the cupcake, and said, "Dude, good luck." Frankie's noticed, too. Just last year, at the end of seventh grade, our teacher rearranged our seating chart. Katie was one row in front and to the right of me. I guess I stared at her a little too long while she read out a part of "Romeo and Juliet" or something, because all of a sudden, Frankie (who sat on my left) jabbed me in the shoulder and hissed "Keep it PG, man," in my ear.

Frankie is the most oblivious guy on the planet. I knew then that I was in trouble.

Yeah, I've endured the endless giggles from many girls whenever they catch Katie and I talking after school. And yes, I walked her to her Science class a week ago (okay, we were having a heated debate on the difference between Evanescence and Linkin Park, but whatever) and the guys still won't shut up about it. I'm getting used to it, though. Thankfully, Katie hasn't seemed to notice and of it yet. Either she's even more clueless than Frankie, or she's just ignoring it.

I don't know which sounds worse.

By this time, of course, I'd made it all the way around the block. I was back at square one, in front of her house. But I couldn't chicken out. Not this time. I was Freddy Jones, School of Rock drummer and Horace Green's resident It Boy - I'm not supposed to get nervous. Especially about a girl.

Then why does she make me so undone?

That was it - I just had to square my shoulders and do it. I'd biked three miles, in the dark, to do this. I slowed my bike to a stop and flipped down the kick-stand. I shrugged the backpack off my shoulders and unzipped it. Reaching inside, I pulled out what I had to deliver. A single red rose. Earlier that night, I had made a small tag out of white paper and ribbon. In my neatest writing I wrote "Happy Birthday" on the tag, and tied it to the rose's stem. I also carefully broke off any super-pointy thorns. I didn't want Katie to prick herself and pull a Sleeping Beauty on me or anything. Not that that's such a bad idea, I thought wryly, if I got to be Prince Charming...

I snapped back to reality as a black sports car whizzed by behind me, honking wildly. Probably some older teenage guys, ones who went to the high school, out for a night of partying. Shaking my head to clear it, I remembered what I was doing. It was Katie's 14th birthday - her champagne birthday - and I was going to finally do something about the massive crush I'd had on her for seven years. God, help me.

I climbed off my bike and walked up the driveway, hoping no one would see me and open the door before I got a chance to ring the bell. My legs felt like they were two long tubes of Jell-o, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack, my heart was beating that fast. I climbed the two steps up onto the porch, strode over to the door, and squared my shoulder. I willed myself to remain calm, and not to do anything stupid. Holding the rose in my left hand, my right one - funny, it didn't seem to belong to me right now - stretched out toward the bell. I pressed it, hearing it ring inside...

And I bolted. I couldn't help it. Just dropped that rose right there on the doormat and ran pell-mell back to my bike. I leapt on it, and with the words, "What are you doing? You're such an idiot! Go back, go back!" yelling at me inside my head, I took off down the street.

I was a moron. A stupid, washed-up, cowardly moron.

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Katie heard the doorbell ring. She stood up, set down her copy of "Guitar Girl", which she was rereading for the fourth time, and went to the door.

She opened it, and saw no one at first. Then she looked down and saw the rose, lying forlornly on the mat. Curious, Katie picked it up. She read the tag, surprised. Who had ding-dong-ditched her a rose? Looking down the street, she saw a blond, spiky-haired drummer on a bike, riding as if Satan itself was on his heels.

Then Katie did something that, had Freddy been there to see it, would have sent his mind reeling once more. She smiled slightly, and gave Freddy's red rose a gentle, loving kiss.****


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